After the Kiss
by celestine de karamel
Summary: A small extract from OoTP: what are Harry's two best friends thinking when he returns to the common room on that fateful evening? R-Hr (duh)
1. Part 1

A/N: I took a small break from my Ginny/Blaise story to write this; I've been wanting to ever since I read OoTP, actually. Hope you enjoy!  
  
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§ Dear Victor §  
  
Hermione bit the end of her quill thoughtfully and stared at the blank piece of parchment before her. Why was it always so hard to start a letter? She had to admit she wasn't really in the mood to write to Viktor, but she'd been delaying the task for almost a week, being busy with her homework, prefect duties and. . . other things.  
  
Sighing, Hermione diligently started to write.  
  
§ How are you? I'm fine, although my schedule has been quite hectic lately. I never thought being a Prefect would take so much time, although I truly enjoy - §  
  
"What's Harry up to? It's almost ten o'clock!"  
  
Hermione felt an all-to-familiar jolt in her stomach and looked up from her letter. Ron was lying on the hearthrug, kicking his legs in the air, frowning up at the grandfather clock next to the fireplace. As always, she was amazed at how very blue his eyes were, contrasting nicely with his fiery hair. . . Hermione tossed the thought aside, wrinkling her nose and rolling her eyes.  
  
"Honestly, Ron, you're not his warden, are you?"  
  
Ron looked at her and shrugged, turning back to whatever he was doing. Hermione silently berated herself; lately it seemed as if whatever she said to him always came out completely wrong. But it wasn't her fault, really. Ron was just so annoying. . . being there. . . distracting her, of all people, from her work. . .  
  
Before her mind could slip on the wrong track again, she started to scribble on the parchment a bit frantically. She would not get caught wasting any more time thinking about childish, clumsy . . . incredibly cute Ron Weasley.  
  
Thankfully, Harry created a diversion by wandering in the Common Room at that particular moment.  
  
"What kept you?" Ron exclaimed.  
  
One glance at Harry's expression made Hermione realise what had happened. He sat in the armchair next to hers, still looking quite dazed.  
  
"Harry, are you alright?" she asked slowly.  
  
Harry made a grunting sound that was impossible to interpret.  
  
"What's up?" Ron asked, leaning on his elbows. "What's happened?"  
  
Harry remained silent. Hermione knew that if they didn't try a more direct approach, they'd probably be waiting up all night for him to snap out of it. "Is it Cho? Did she corner you after the meeting?"  
  
Harry nodded numbly. Ron sniggered. Hermione shot him a look; strangely enough, she found him more annoying than ever, lying there, his eyes bright with mischief, his lips twisted in a half- smile that was both charming and unsettling. How could he look so unaffected at a time like this? Hermione's nerves flared dangerously.  
  
"So - er - what did she want?" Ron teased.  
  
"She - " Harry began, but seemed to embarrassed to go on. "She - er - "  
  
"Did you kiss?" Hermione interrupted briskly.  
  
Ron sat up all of a sudden, making his ink bottle fly all over the rug and ogling at Harry like he'd just set the new world record in speed flying. "Well?"  
  
Hermione frowned as Harry nodded at them, looking pleased but somewhat sheepish.  
  
"HA!"  
  
Ron started to laugh in a deep, throaty voice that sent a series of quivers through Hermione's spine. He was rolling around on the hearthrug as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.  
  
Hermione looked at him, disgusted. Obviously she was the only one who realised how problematic the situation was. Problematic and impossibly frustrating. Hermione knew she ought to feel glad for Harry like Ron did, but she couldn't. First and foremost, it was obvious Harry wasn't making things easy for himself by dating Cedric's ex-girlfriend.  
  
Second, although she would've rather died than admit it, Hermione was also a bit jealous of Cho. Harry had always been rather thick concerning girls, but Cho had finally made him come to his senses, and now they'd kissed. On the other hand, she, Hermione Granger, hadn't even managed one measly invitation to the Yule Ball and still struggled to make Ron understand the obvious.  
  
She turned back to her letter, desperately needing something to occupy her mind.  
  
§ I don't think I'll be able to go to Bulgaria this summer. My parents told me they were planning a trip to Italy for us, and truth to be told, I'm dying to see Florence and - §  
  
"Well? How was it?"  
  
"Wet. Because she was crying."  
  
"Oh. Are you that bad at kissing?"  
  
"Dunno. Maybe I am."  
  
Hermione realised she'd been writing on without finishing her sentence. "Of course you're not," she replied automatically, scribbling away.  
  
"How do you know?" Ron snapped.  
  
Hermione resisted the urge to look up from her parchment. "Because," she answered vaguely, "Cho spends half her time crying these days. She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place."  
  
Actually, she'd only seen Cho cry once, in the girls' loo. She was telling Marietta that the sole reason Roger didn't kick her out the Ravenclaw Quidditch team was because he fancied her. The rest of the story, she'd heard from Lavender and Parvati.  
  
"You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up," Ron said, flashing a grin.  
  
Hermione willed her cheeks to stay clear of any blushing and concentrated on her inkbottle. That grin was - was he blind or what? - positively wicked - as if he knew anything about kissing! He didn't. Surely he didn't.  
  
"Ron," she articulated, dipping her quill in the inkbottle, "you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean? What sort of person cries while someone's kissing them?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry added, "who does?"  
  
Hermione glared at them, feeling rather squirmish, especially since the object of her own unavowed kissing fantasies was sitting right in front of her. "Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?"  
  
"No," both boys said.  
  
Hermione started to explain to them what she thought was happening inside Cho's mind. Both of them were looking at her like she was Albert Einstein in the middle of a conference.  
  
"One person can't feel all that once, they'd explode," Ron concluded simply.  
  
Anger boiled inside Hermione. He wouldn't know what is was like, of course. . . falling in love with the exact person you wished you wouldn't. . . No, life for Ron Weasley was restricted to Quidditch, copying other people's homework and pretty girls with the I.Q of a buttered scone, while she was busy tearing her hair out strand by strand over his stupid eyes and stupid freckles and awful manners and adorable smile. . .  
  
"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have," she shot back through gritted teeth, gripping her quill like her life depended on it.  
  
For the rest of their conversation, she forced herself to ignore Ron and get on with her letter. She hoped Viktor wouldn't think she was mental; she was now down to writing about Italy's famous medieval wizards and witches. Her hand just couldn't seem to stop writing, and the lines were getting blurry.  
  
"Who are you writing the novel to, anyway?" Ron asked.  
  
Hermione rolled the parchment up out of his sight. Somehow, she didn't want him to see that she was writing about what she'd learned in history class.  
  
"Viktor."  
  
"Krum?"  
  
"How many other Viktors do we know?"  
  
Ron looked very displeased, but said nothing. Hermione almost rolled her eyes at his blatant immaturity but something very different was fighting its' way around as well. A warm, flattered impression.  
  
Ron was jealous of Viktor because he thought she was dating him.  
  
Shaking the thought away was almost painful, but she was too smart to give herself any false hopes. After all, boys were often envious of older, more successful blokes for no apparent reason. Hermione's hand kept writing, as if in trance, to the bottom of the parchment. What if she asked Ron why he was jealous? What would he answer then? Would she even have the nerve to get the words out of her mouth? Every time she'd tried, she'd found it was a lot harder than reciting a lesson in class. A strange combination of fear and pride always seemed to get in the way.  
  
Hermione realised that she'd let a droplet of ink fall from the tip of her quill on her robe. She hastily set the quill on the table, rolled the parchment up and sealed it.  
  
"Well, night," she said in what she hoped was a natural tone, and yawned widely, heading towards the girls' staircase. She thought she felt Ron's eyes on her neck, but didn't dare turn around.  
  
Amid the soft breathing and moonlit darkness of her dormitory, Hermione took some time to clear her mind before going to sleep. Everything seemed so complicated this year, so different, it was hard to find sense in what was happening around her. Especially concerning. . . other things.  
  
Was there even any sense to find? she asked herself, hugging her pillow. Another uneventful evening had left her exhausted. About ready to explode, in fact. 


	2. Part 2

A/N : Wow. . . so many reviews, so little time! Thanks to everyone for the encouragement! I don't know if I'll do a sequel - yet - but I'm taking it under serious consideration ;-)  
  
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§ As a conclusion, one can say that the Alatus spell, though it permits living beings to grow wings, must be used with precaution as its effects can be hapazard - haphadarz - §  
  
Ron crossed out the end of his sentence and chewed on his bottom lip anxiously. It was almost eleven o' clock, and he had yet to finish his Transfiguration essay. He was finding it harder and harder to concentrate, despite the growing silence of the common room. Everybody else had gone up to bed, leaving Harry, Hermione and himself alone.  
  
Ron glanced up at his friend who was sitting in an armchair, his green eyes staring into the hearth, and bit back a grin. Harry looked positively dazed, and Ron wouldn't have been surprised to see drool on the corner of his mouth. It was a riot, really, the way one little kiss could affect him. Of course, Ron had never kissed anyone himself, but joking about it with his older brothers, hearing about their own experiences and speculating on the matter made it somewhat less dramatic.  
  
He was happy for Harry, though. Cho was a smart, attractive girl; maybe Harry would start acting like a normal human being again. . .  
  
There was a big blotch of ink on the parchment; Ron realised he'd been pressing the tip of his quill against the paper too hard. Thinking about his best friend's sudden fits of anger and unsteady mood didn't really do it for him; most of the time, he forced all the bitterness and resentment down. There was already enough fighting going on as it was. . .  
  
Yes, Cho would definitely do the trick, Ron thought , erasing the ink blotch distractedly. Now, back to that darn essay. . .  
  
§ - must be used with precaution as its effects can be unpredictable and in some cases, dangerous. One may ask himself if this is the case with every spell that actually interferes with the creature's anatomy - §  
  
Besides, if Harry was with Cho. . . well, there was no doubt left. . . he didn't fancy anyone else. . . who happened to be sitting at the table writing a very long letter. . .  
  
Feeling suddenly extremely grumpy, Ron turned back to his essay.  
  
"Who're you writing the novel to, anyway?" he'd asked Hermione earlier.  
  
"Viktor," she'd answered with an odd expression on her face, nearly leaping to keep the parchment out of his sight.  
  
"Krum?"  
  
An innocent implication, really. But Hermione had shot back angrily: "How many other Viktors do we know?"  
  
Ron hadn't replied; he was too busy trying to cope with the sickly sensation in his stomach. Bloody Viktor Krum. . . who knew how to play Quidditch properly, unlike some people. . . It was no wonder, really, that Hermione fancied him, wonderful, popular, famous Viktor Krum, instead of a freckly little nobody who barely managed to hold on to a Quaffle . . .  
  
Ron often came to wonder why Hermione even bothered hanging out with him; she certainly didn't seem to enjoy it, that much was sure. Always throwing him furious glances for no apparent reason, sighing in exasperation whenever he opened his mouth or telling him to be quiet. . .  
  
The strangest thing about Hermione's behaviour, though, was that it changed radically from time to time. She'd kissed him on the cheek before the Quidditch match; she'd almost jumped at his neck when he'd come back from his long walk under the snow; and the night he'd got Percy's letter, she'd looked at him in a way that had made his heart flutter.  
  
But these were only fleeting moments of relief. Stuck between Harry, who made it clear that nobody understood him and that he didn't want to be understood anyway, and Hermione, who was acting like a banshee at a bad time of the month, Ron generally felt pretty left out.  
  
§ Such spells must therefore occur as last resort, and not be of light or profuse application. §  
  
Ron sighed heavily as he put his quill down. Hermione was standing up, gathering her things; she yawned widely. "Well, night," she said, heading towards the girls' staircase.  
  
Ron watched after her. She was holding Krum's letter in her hand.  
  
"Probably going to slip it under her pillow," he muttered to himself, sitting up and tossing his parchment and quill into his bag.  
  
Harry followed him up the boys' staircase, lost in his own thoughts.  
  
"What does she see in Krum?" Ron asked aloud, more to himself than to his friend.  
  
"Well," Harry replied vaguely, "I s'pose he's older, isn't he. . . and he's an international Quidditch player. ."  
  
"Yeah but apart from that. . ." Ron insisted, expecting a little more support. "I mean, he's a grouchy git, isn't he?"  
  
"A bit grouchy, yeah. . ." Harry said, sounding like Luna Lovegood in the middle of a crossword puzzle.  
  
Ron snorted. The poor bloke was obviously in no state to hold a coherent conversation. Both boys got ready for bed in silence.  
  
Once Ron had pulled the heavy hangings shut, he waited until he was sure Harry was asleep, then quietly took his wand from his bed stand.  
  
"Lumos," he whispered, rummaging under his mattress until he found what he was looking for.  
  
It was a small box, wrapped clumsily with shiny red paper. Ron considered it for a second.  
  
He'd pondered on Hermione's present for days on end. He still remembered wanting to ask Ginny what she'd like Micheal to get her for Christmas, then thinking better of it. His sister would probably have guessed his intentions; she was a shrewd one, Ginny. Asking the twins was also out of the question. Finally, Ron had had to rely on himself.  
  
There was a shop in Hogsmeade called "Bewitching Beauty Buys", a prissy girls' shop if he ever saw one. Ron smirked as he recalled entering the store, practically hiding under his robes in embarrassment, and asking the sales witch which perfume to choose. In the end, he'd had to buy the cheapest they had, having only three Galleons to spend.  
  
And now the gift was in his hands, waiting to be opened by Hermione on Christmas day. Ron sighed. Surely she wouldn't think anything of it. . .  
  
With trembling fingers, he touched the small card he'd glued to the wrapping paper. "For Hermione, from Ron," it read on the outside. Then, inside: "I hope you like it as much as I like you."  
  
What had he been thinking, writing that? It had been before the Quidditch match. . . Ron shook his head slowly. This would never work.  
  
"Bloody Viktor Krum. . . " he murmured, then, pointing his wand at the card: "Delere."  
  
The words disappeared. Ron stuffed the box under his mattress, switched the light off and slipped under the covers. Closing his eyes, he could still picture Hermione writing her letter, with that small, concentrated frown he'd learned to find endearing. . . her face lit by the gentle glow of the fire. . . her curly hair, softly brushing her cheek. . .  
  
*Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon, doesn't mean we all have.*  
  
Ron pulled his quilt over his head. This was going to be a long night. 


End file.
